U. S. Custom House and Post Office

Good memories! The first time I came to the United States, I traveled by road down Adirondack Highway between Montreal and Plattsburgh, New York. It was a beautiful summer day ... September 11.

We headed south, two Quebecois in the front of the car and an unshaven, long-haired Belgian in the back. At the border, we were asked, "Why are you entering our country?" and my friend said "hitchhiking" rather than "hiking" ... bad idea! With one hand on his belt, the other on his rifle, the officer made us park and get out. While the car was searched (praying they wouldn't steal our cookies!), I had to hand over my passport and a sum of USD 6, and they took my fingerprints. I was assured that I would then be able to move freely for several months.